Salvation
by Tweek544
Summary: Kenny has always had a very concrete opinion of himself. It's engrained in his mind, but someone is always there to help him survive.


My eyes flutter open. It's still dark, my eyes are still adjusting. My legs feel heavy, with each step I'm dragging a ball and chain that just keeps getting bigger. Was the bathroom always this far away? I feel around the wall, I'm still half asleep and I cannot for the life of me find the light switch. After what feels like an eternity of aimless hunting I hear a click and the light flickers on, a low buzz resonating throughout the room.

I stare into the mirror, my normally azure-blue eyes darkened to a deep ocean navy by the shadows. I stare at the ever persistent bags draping beneath my eyes. People always told me I looked like death, like I was always on the other side. I have been. Not in a while. But my body knows I have, and I guess it likes to give me subtle little reminders of what I am.

**Immortal.**

I always thought I deserved pain. My parents always told me how worthless I am.

_"Dirt"  
"Filth"  
"Good-for-nothing smart-ass"_

I grew to believe it. I still do, to this day. Suicide seemed appropriate at first. Even though I knew I'd return, I thought the pain of death would linger with me, but as I died, unfortunately so too did the agony. It was almost always over in a flash. I deserved worse than that; lasting pain. I deserve lasting reminders of what I am...scum.

I close my eyes and run my fingers lightly over my arms, each scar a speed-bump, slowing my progress. Each slowing me down enough to remember the pain it caused, the pain I deserved, the pain I almost longed to feel. Each arm a journal, a journal of reminders, ensuring I remember who I am, and believe me, I never forget. I feel like they define me, they epitomise the core essence of what is the lowly Kenny McCormick...plain ol' me.

I open my eyes and look back into the mirror, nothing has changed. I'm still the same me. Sometimes I hope that when I open my eyes, the scars, the bags, all of the signs of weakness and depression will disappear. I hope that I'll look back at myself and smile, smile because I'm alive and healthy and...and happy. It's stupid, it can't happen and I know that. A part of me keeps saying that maybe a little more faith this time will help, maybe if I believe in it just a little bit harder. But it doesn't. Everything's still there, right as it should be, nothing ever changed, no matter how hard I wished!

_"Go figure Kenny."_

I slowly pull my t-shirt over my head, wincing as the fabric brushes past some of the more recent, more tender scars. I realised quickly that my arms were canvases already full. I needed a new slate to carve my 'art' of punishment. I traced a particularly long scar. It was deep, still healing, my touch peeling away parts of my bodies attempt at recovery. Hasn't it learnt by now that healing me is futile. That's the sick irony of my pain. No matter how devastating, my body always recovers. Nevertheless, blood seeped out slowly from the now raw parts of my flesh. But it wasn't enough. I deserved worse.

I gazed down to the sink, and as usual, there lay the straight razor, taunting me, serenading me into another _'Tango de la Muerte'_. I always gave in, always the willing partner. I picked it up, opening it to reveal the sharp, shining beauty that had caused me so much pain. I always took the time to revel at its lethality. One quick swipe could kill me. One quick swipe has killed me. Correction, one quick swipe tried to kill me.

Instead, all it did now was act as my bitter salvation. It brought me the pain my mind wanted me to suffer. Though my body told me no, my past, the voices, my mind told me yes. It **screamed** yes. I looked myself in the mirror again, mouthing every insult and taunt my parents ever threw at me. With each the blade inched closer to my abdomen. A tear fell gracefully from my left eye as the blade made contact. I glared down to see a few drops of blood hit the floor, biting my lip as blade tore through flesh, before returning my sight to the mirror in front of me.

Two stoic grey eyes greeted me over my left shoulder, and an arm found it's way around my slender, bloodied waist. A hand lay atop mine as it helped me slowly pull the blade away from my flesh. More tears leached from my eyes as I began to shake, dropping the blood stained razor to the floor. I could feel myself convulsing as I sobbed.

"There there..."

My crying intensified as I found myself collapsing to my knees. I could feel blood trickling down my thigh, it was always cold, ebbing slowly across the surface of my skin. But this chill was quickly followed by a warm embrace.

"I'm here for you McCormick."

I bit my lip, trying hard to fight the tears, my head now buried against my lover's shoulder. I had let him down. I had let him down again. I know why I do this to myself, but why should he have to suffer as well.

"I'm always here Kenny. Let it all out. I'm here."

He never needed to say anything more. The moment I felt his embrace I regretted all my actions, I regret letting him down once again. I could feel him lifting me up, carrying me out of this bathroom and to our bed. He sat me down gently on our bed before kneeling in front of me, grabbing both my hands in his, intertwining our fingers.

"You are beautiful. You hear me McCormick. You are the most beautiful boy in the world. You mean so much to me, and it pains me to see you like this. But no matter how much it pains me I know it pains you so much more. And this is a pain you do not deserve, no matter how much you think you do."

I looked up gingerly from my lap meeting his beautiful gaze. As I did, the corner of my mouth curved up into a small smile. He sat up beside me and draped an arm over my shoulders, his other hand still gripped tight in mine. I knew I was safe. I had been saved yet again.

"I love you Kenny"

I whimpered softly, leaning my head against his, tightening my grip on his hand.

"Don't you ever, ever forget that."

I bit my lip and lifted my head enough to kiss him softly on his cheek. I could taste the tears he had cried. He always cried. The minute I'm not in the bed beside him he knows what I'm doing. I guess he worries. Worries in case I kill myself again. Worries in case this is the one time I don't come back, like I've been given one too many chances and fate decides to throw a curveball that I can't return. Bit by bit it destroys him, but he stays for me. I'm lucky in that respect.

"Thank you Tucker."

He heads back to the bathroom, returning with a bandage and tape. Carefully and lovingly, he dressed my newest wound, before kissing the top of my stomach. It's a skill he's begun to perfect, yet I'm ashamed to say it's for all the wrong reasons, all stemming from me. He lies me down, positioning himself behind me as he pulls us together. I realise now that the blade isn't my salvation. Craig is. The blade makes me feel the pain my mind wants me to inflict. Craig heals the pain and treats me with love he wants me to bathe in. It's a love I reciprocate, a love, deep down, that after my years of pain and depression, I feel_I _deserve.


End file.
